Screaming pipe or whispering pipe

Had a chat with Riaan last night. As usual, he rocked up at a most inconvenient time; I was just settling in and re-enjoying The Matrix for the fifth time...

The conversation took many turns, one of them; how to finish the film. As director, he feels we have to move away from the bikes now and give the film more depth. I dont like the sound of that!

We also spoke about the virtues of a quiet exhaust pipe. Yes, I never though the day would come. I am a believer that a decent pipe is one of the things that can transform the character of a bike (as my spin on a BMW K1200R testified - more on that later).

My VFR has changed my approach to biking in many ways; one of them being my appreciation for Hondas. I always thought of Honda as Japanese BMW's; for the older, more conservative generation. I'll stick with my Ninja thank you. But I started admiring Honda for its well-published built quality and reliability (maybe because my Suzuki's and Kawasaki's and Yamaha's spent more time with various mechanics than with me)!

And what better bike than the VFR if you have to go for a Honda. I am already beginning to think of my next Honda. I dont like the VTEC, but more importantly, I want more power. Since there is no 1000cc V-Four (the pan-euro for some reason doesnt count), the Blackbird will have to do. And if you check the Rider Power surveys in the UK, the Blackbird consistently rates in the top 5, while the ZX-12R and Hayabusa trails in the 20's.

My riding has become conservative. And no, I am not getting old; my riding priorities are changing, thats all!

And although the Blackbird is fast, it exudes class and understatement in the way the VFR does. Of course, it has comfortable touring ability, especially with a pillion, which is also a surprising change in my riding over the years.

Actually very few Blackbirds have aftermarket pipes, I started to notice. Tells you something about the kind of rider they attract - very useful if you buy used. As with the VFR, you know the rider is unlikely to have trashed the bike.

Which brings me back to the point of this blog.

I cant believe I enjoy a quiet pipe. I like being unobstrusive. I can fly past a traffic cop parked next to the road way past the speed limit and he never hears me coming.

Riaan also has a quiet (aftermarket) pipe on his GS850. And likes it. You sit back, relax and enjoy the sites. No revs to chase after; no need to feel the bike chases you to the horison.

I do feel I want a more fruity sound to bring out the V-four drone, but not louder.

"Loud pipes save lifes". That is true. The one negative of a loud pipe is that pedestrians walk right in front of you, not hearing you coming. They, of course, dont look before they cross a road!

Car drivers are hopeless. Not even a loud pipe gets their attention.

My spin on the K1200R is memorable, partly because of that race-pipe. It was a thrill beyond believe. Loud, angry and naughty, but I wouldnt want to have it spliting my ears everyday. It makes sense only every now and then. If your bike is your only transport that you use every day, this becomes an issue, I reckon.

A second bike as a weekend screamer maybe?

biking myths

Sjoe!

that was a load of my mind!

To greet or not to greet

Are these the same punks that pull up next to you at a redlight in their one-piece racing leathers, barely glancing in your direction? Or if they come the other way, making me feel like a *bleep* because they couldnt be bothered to return my greeting? And they inevitably, almost always ride a late model superbike?

Are these the sunday riders? I cant believe they consider themselves to be bikers?

Riders on older bikes are much more friendlier on the road.

Superbikers take themselves way to serious.

But it seems to be a general trend. Other bikers complain of the same thing. My personal view is that so many people buy bikes these days for weekend fun only, it is not really about being a biker in spirit and lyfestyle. For them it is the same as having a boat that you take out on an off-weekend. So there is a lot more of them on the road; hence a lot more guys (not bikers!) on the road that does not acknowledge you. The result is that I stop greeting as well. I dont want to continue to feel like a twat; swearing inside my helmet. But I always return the odd, rare greeting.

Get stuck next to the road and see how many bikers stop. In my case (with my decript Katana), non. On a few occasions. Why?

Then there is the thing about expensive bikes; Harley's, Ducati's, BMW's, etc. Or superbikers, cruisers and old bikes in general. They only greet you if you are on a similar bike. Seems like bikes devide more than they unite these days.

I always say having a bike doesnt make you a biker.

So is the real bikers gone?

You are what you ride

Since I am on a roll here, my another annoying one is (after I told them what bike I ride); is my cousin's uncle's so-and-so rides a R1. It is always a R1 (credit to Yamaha). And you can touch the disdain in their voice with a stick.

So somehow my bike is inferior. Hence I am an inferior person.

The real one that gets me is; “Oh, I am about to get me an R1 next month...”

What the hell is wrong with a VFR?

And do you know that you actually get different bikes than headline-grabbing, recordbreaking, race-rep superbikes? Bikes you can actually use?

Bikes dont kill. Stupidity does!

What I really really hate though, is a non-biker trying to make conversation with you; “Bikes are sooo dangerous. I have heard of my cousin's uncle's so-and-so who came off the other day – died instantly – body was pulp – head was off. And the head always comes off. Or the legs. Or the body split in two. For the next half an hour I have to listen to the gory details of some unfortunate soul.

That is the other association with bikes. Roadkill.

I you are afraid to die, dont get out of your bloody bed in the morning. In fact, get under it, because the roof might just cave in on you!

Ride. Because kids need heroes

My bike attracts a lot attention- which does wonders for my ego. People that wouldnt give me the time of day otherwise comes up for a chat. “Nice bike, bru...”

“How fast does it go?” is the more annoying one from the younger generation. Then they oogle at the speedometer, see 300kph, and go all big-eye. I dont have the heart to tell them, that, on a good day, on a long downhill with a strong tailwind and a bit of guts, I`ll be lucky to break 250kph.

But thats bikes for you. The association with speed is instant and eternal.

What i really dig though are the small kids going crazy, crawling all over me. I am not particulary good with kids, but getting them to sit on my lap and basically just wanting to hang-out with has no comparison. I am their unqualified friend for life.

That is what biking does to kids. In traffic I always notice them in the surrounding cars craning their necks to keep me in sight until I dissappear. Even as young as 18 months. And that includes girls.

I hope they never grow up.

the valkyrie

they said you would come

they said you would come on your ironsteed

they said you would come to take the hurt away

the hurt that is everywhere

in my head and my heart and my soul and my life

they said you can rumble me away

away from the hurt that is everywhere

rumble me to somewhere where the sun never sets

and tomorrow never comes

can you really take the hurt away

can you hold me can you tell me it will be ok

me the strong one me the man me the caretaker

but who takes care of the caretaker

will you

will you rumble me away on your ironsteed of freedom

to the land where reality don’t exist

and i don’t have to hurt no more

rumble me away

rumble you away

to neverland

to foreverland

inspired by paulo coelhoe's "the valkyries"

Ducati chops ugly 999 early

I am a huge Ducati fan. I don't know if the film will ever be finished, never-mind released, but my movie-making friend Riaan has been pointing a camera in my face for a while getting me to drool about bikes. And I had to choose the bike I would like to own the most. I went for the Ducati 916/996/998 series. I just call it the 916. So there are hours of tape of me huddling and cuddling an assortment of 916's.

Oh yes, the hold-up is with Ducati Cape Town, who is supposed to supply a bike for me to ride in the film. And the bike they have available has been giving problems endlessly...

I blame my love for Ducati on Carl Fogarty. When bikes first entered my awareness in the 90’s, long before I even thought of actually owning and riding one, I started reading up on them. And all the magazines and the internet was awashed with just one bike, the 916, and just one man, who piloted it to world championship after championship. It did help that it was a bloody gorgeous piece of metal and plastic to look at, of course.

And when I started collecting modelkits, my first one was a 916. I have several now. I am particularly proud of the Senna version I found in Copenhagen (pic above).

I can't afford a Duke and I am still too scared to even think of looking after one; reliability and cost of living being the biggest worries.

Anyway, as you can see in the interview below, I never got used to the 999. I thought it was ugly from the beginning, but it hasn’t gotten easier with time. And many people felt that way. Particularly the ones that can afford them.

So it hasn’t sold all that well. Not even the 999's dominance in World Superbike Racing could propel it to the top of the sales charts, as was the case with the 916 series.

Looks sell. It is a sad fact. Strangely though, the Bangled-up BMW’s hasn’t suffered much in sales. Maybe bikers are a more fickle bunch.

I am not sad to see the 999 go. It had a life-span of only 4 years, that is admission enough of it not doing well. This is Ducati’s mainstay model range and the manufacturer was slipping into the red – they had to act.

The new for 2007 1098 is a beauty in the classic sense. Gone is the sci—fi design touches and back is the rearward sloping lines to a high tail-end, complete with single-sided swing-arm. Ducatisti rejoice!

It is not a striking design though. And in fairness it could never be, the 916 was far to influential for that. The result is that the 1098 lacks visual drama, and looks far too pleasing on the eye. Especially after the tension of the 999.

I involuntarily breathed a sigh of relieve when I first saw the 1098!

That is partly because of the familiar design touches; there is a bit of Honda CBR and Triumph 675 in the lines, but remember, the 916 had it all first. Even the under-seat tail-pipes are unashamedly 916.

But mostly, Ducati couldn’t afford to rake risks; it had to play safe, and make sure people wouldn’t mind falling and line taking out their wallets.

What is interesting is that with the 1100cc capacity, the bike can’t race now (forgetting about the prototype MotoGP for a second). And racing is an integral part of Ducati’s heritage. Do they feel confident that the capacity limit will be increased to 1200cc?

Or are they reasoning that if the 999’s racing success couldn’t safe it, maybe racing is not all that important to the bottomline? So the 1098 will sell very well, thank you.

In a year or two we will know.

Interview with Pierre Terblanche

From basics to beauty

Thursday, 10 March, 2005

Designing award-winning motorbikes takes a touch of genius

Patrick van Sleight

“It is three years down the line, and all of a sudden the Ducati 999 has become a beautiful motorcycle. Why?”

Terblanche took a thoughtful sip of his mineral water; “Nothing about the bike has changed. It still looks the same!” Was he resentful? Or just vindicated?

The Ducati 999 was launched to a cynical motorcycling press in 2003, who expected another beauty in the fold of the rather inimitable 916. Compliments were rare.

We were sitting in the warm shade in front of the Sheraton Hotel, waiting for coffee to arrive while sharing some bottled water. Pierre Terblanche is in town for a few days, presenting a session at the Design Indaba. It afforded me a rare and unexpected opportunity to find out why the 999 looks like it does; it is a bike I still struggle to understand.

“We could have given you another Ducati 916.” No, the firmness in his voice was just simple conviction. “But why? Why re-invent the wheel?”

The design of the 999 was meant to push the boundaries and did not prescribe to conventional perceptions of beauty; “People reacted the same when the 851 was launched in the late Eighties. No-one was happy about the looks.”

“People don’t like change, but that is no reason not to. But if I had to design the 999 today, I would probably do it differently.”

You can’t be too conservative, but neither can you be too advanced, he advised. The new Golf V and Jaguar XJ looks too much like the previous examples, and that is hurting sales. But then you get the new Porsche 997, which looks a lot like the old 993, and people like that.

“As a designer, you don’t have a crystal-ball to see what people might like. These are the things that keeps me awake at night” he smiles.

The conversation was drifting away from my obsession with the 999, but I took a last stab; was he apprehensive about designing the 999, considering how successful the 916 was?

“Of course, but it was about more than that. There are so many good products out there these days, how do you distinguish them?”

“That is where the designer comes in; to give it a different look, and convince you are buying something that is different from the others.” Was he getting cynical?

“The same is true for bikes”

Maybe it is worse for bikes; “Because they are so compact, there is very little you can do. Once you have set a wheelbase of, say, 1420mm, a steering angle of 24 degrees, fit the frame, and found a place for the engine and battery, all bikes end up looking the same.”

Of course, the trademark trellis frame of Ducati does help to distinguish its bikes much easier.

It was time to leave, but I had to raise my other favourite gripe that I have with Terblanche: his Ducati Multistrada. I thought it was odd-looking, and unlike with the 999, have not warmed to it yet. “It is our best-selling bike at the moment.” I am disappointed to hear that.

“People might dream about riding like Rossi or Bostrom, but in real life they want a bike they can go shopping with, and throw around on a mountain pass on weekends. The Multistrada is for those people.”

But does it not dilute the brand value?

Terblanche responded without hesitance in his firm but gentle manner: “The Ducati brand values are performance, design and Italian flair, and the Multistrada has all of those. It is not the sportiest Ducati, but it is the sportiest bike in its class.”

My precious few minutes with Terblanche comes to an end, but the questions in my mind are endless. The coffee at the Sheraton did not arrive, but we left anyway.

Has he designed the MotoGP racebike? And will he do the road-going replica? I had to know.

“Actually no, I only designed the swing-arm on the race-bike. And yes, work on the roadbike has started.”

Will it be another watershed design in the history of the marquee? Will it be met with mixed responses again? Perhaps.

But it is the passing of time that has proven to bring out the genius of Terblanche’s work, not instant popularity.

Published in Drive Times (supplement to Cape Times): Thursday, March 10, 2005

My favourite rides

It is the peak of summer and the best way for a biker to spend it, is of course, to bike. In summer bike prices sky-rocket and everybody is out there, biking the Cape. If you are renting a bike or scoot, book in advance. Bike rental companies are operating at full capacity, as tourists make use of the good weather.

The Cape is blessed with some of the best scenery in the world, and our roads are not too bad either. The Cape has something to offer for every taste and preference. A lot depends on your riding style and the kind of bike you ride; cruiser or superbike, single or group riding, long-distance or short.

The matter of the best biking roads in the Cape is a very personal choice, and I have my favourites. They are normally half- to full day circular rides, and within the borders of the Western Cape Province.

I don’t like carrying luggage so what can’t fit under the seat, has to stay behind. Besides, I like brisk riding most of the time, and a rugsack is nothing more than a pain above the but when doing this. I prefer not to take pillions for the same reason.

I also find I have to decide what mood I am in beforehand, as it determines the way I will ride, and where to. Will it be a scene-watching cruise or a fast head-clearing burn? Trying to do both on the same trip is asking for an accident. My riding becomes erratic and without rhythm.

The Cape scenery is very distracting, but if I have some stress to burn off, I have to ignore it, because I am flying and need to concentrate on the traffic and the road. This way, I maximise the purpose of my ride, and usually arrive home feeling relaxed.Needless to say, I never tire of the scenery, and will come back a million times. On a scenic cruise I stop often, take photos, have long coffee breaks and chats, and try to forget where home is. In fact, I will sometimes end up being lost, and discover new roads and scenes this way.

Heavy traffic can be a problem on some routes, but that is why breakfast runs were invented. Get the hint? But if you are a late sleeper like me, best to go for the far-out-of-town rides.

These are my favourite rides:

The two oceans around the Cape Peninsula

This is one of the most popular routes with both bikers and cyclists (The Pick-a-Pay\Argus Tour covers this route). I usually mark the end of Camps Bay as the start of the route.

With my mount of choice being a rather impatient, dyno-jetted, quick-shifting, ignition-advanced ZX-6R, this ride became my favourite stress reliever. It helps to know the road well, and the bike seems to follow the bends almost by itself. Heading west on Victoria Drive, the road follows the contours of the imposing Twelve Apostles on the right-hand side, while the wide Atlantic on the right breezes fresh air into my helmet.

The road provides a quite spirited combination of twists. It is usually full of superbikes – even on weekdays - and it is easy to see why. Those wide bends just beg to be leaned into with bursts of open throttle on the straights. Picking up dices with other superbikes is at the order of the day, exploiting the fast and furious nature of the sweeps fully.

But traffic is a constant hazard, and care and good judgement is an essential part of the ride.

All too soon, I usually have to slow down into a small republic called Hout Bay. Rather stop first in the picturesque, little millionaire's village of Llandudno, and visit the nearby Sandy Bay (infamous for its nude sunbathers).

Knee-down addicts will turn back here for another fix. However, I always need to see what is around the next corner and over the hill, so I tackle Chapman’s Peak drive. If you are not on a breakfast run, you’ll be stuck in traffic here for a while, especially with everybody coming to experience the new canopy. While the canopy keeps you safe and out of the sun, it limits the scenery somewhat. And remember, it is a toll road now, so keep some currency handy.

If time and patience is in short supply, the Ou Kaapse Weg from Sun Valley takes you back quickly with a spectacular view of the Cape Peninsula.

It is not until you leave Kommetjie that some space opens up again. After Camel Rock, you can cut across to Red Hill and Simon’s Town, but what’s the hurry? Especially since the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve is always a pleasure to rediscover. Empty, secluded beaches, and close-up wild-life makes it as close to an Eden as you can get. A visit to the restaurant at Cape Point usually coincides with lunchtime.

Queens Drive into Simon’s Town and Boyes Drive overlooking Muizenberg makes whale-watching from the saddle a unique kind of ride.

Back in town, Tafelberg Pass and Signal Hill Drive brings the ride to and end. As the sun dips into the Atlantic, I will work my way home either down Camps Bay Drive or Kloof Road, just to capture the last views of the sea and mountains, as if I’m saying goodbye, see you next time, in some nostalgic way.

The whale ride to Hermanus and back

Another traffic-jammed route in daytime, but a superbiker’s delight early morning. These corners are the stuff of heroes, and have a reputation for rewarding the brave and slaying the stupid. Many have met their end here, so take care.

Make sure to visit the Ooskus Fishery in Gordon's Bay for the crispiest slap-chips served with your choice of the catch of the day.

The view across False Bay to Cape Point from Clarence Drive has to be seen to be believed. This view often makes me think of the bay as a huge dam or lake, surrounded by mountains on all sides.

It is sometimes possible to see whales from here in season. What I appreciate about having a bike, is that parking is never a problem, especially when it is so full of traffic in season.

After Rooi Els the traffic thins out and a bit more speed is possible. Slowing down to get through the main road of Kleinmond is a bit of a nuisance, but pedestrians and speedcops make it a necessity!

Hermanus is an incredibly popular weekend getaway town, so traffic picks up again the moment you join the R43. Riding through the town is a nightmare. As a result, it is best to park, take a stroll and enjoy the restaurants and views.

After this, if you have time, money and energy left, take the long way home. Go out to Stanford (perhaps even make a u-turn in the sleepy Gansbaai), and head north-east. The twisty Akkedisberg Pass guides you towards Riviersonderend, but instead, turn left to Caledon at the only intersection you will find. You are now on one the best roads for a fast, sweepy burn. Empty and smooth, you have the chance to get intimate with the upper echelons of your bike’s rev-range. Caledon introduces you the N2, and back home you go.

The snoek ride up the West Coast Road

The speedster’s dream. A long stretch of black-top that can be surprisingly empty on occasion. But beware, a lot of cars like to speed here as well, and the R27 has seen some of the nastiest accidents.

In winter months fog rolling in from the cold Atlantic can be a real hazard, so choose your time to ride carefully, or get a good helmet. Fog seems to come in either late afternoons or over night, clearing only mid- to late morning.

This is also a speedcop’s paradise for the reasons mentioned, so once again, careful…

Make a point of turning into The Strandloper restaurant outside Langebaan on the beach, for fresh snoek and whatever else arrived in the net that day. It is a unique concept, and suits my “roughing it” style.

A slow cruise through the West Coast National Park bring you close to the odd ostrich, but rather do this in the flower season, as you’ll be able to enter the otherwise closed sections of the park.

You can make your turning back point one of many places; Langebaan, Vredenburg or Saldahna. Going the extra mile to Laaiplek and Veldriff is worth the scenery and the fresh snoek.

Still want more? Head east to Piketberg, and follow the N7 back home.

My published articles

Adventure biking: taking the Zen route

Friday, 5 January 2007
It would have been easy to write-off Honda's TransAlp as a glorified scooter because it commutes remarkably well yet felt as if it had little else to offer. Then came the weekend. Read full story here...

Also published in Drive Times (supplement to Cape Times): Thursday, January 4, 2007

BMW goes bad

Tuesday, 19 December 2006
In recent years BMW has made inroads into the high-performance end of the market with the handling and power of its bikes. However, excitement was rarely part of the mix. Not only has that changed with the K1200R, but the bike has that most un-BMW-like quality of all: attitude. Read full story here...

Published on BMW Motorrad.


Twist-‘n-go Galaxy 150
Wednesday, 18 January 2006
Our favourite motorcyclist, Patrick van Sleight, hung up his leathers to give us the scoop on life with the Jonway Galaxy, a roofed scooter that provided more than its fair share of surprises…

The quiet boy
Monday, 10 October 2005
As unassuming as it is purposeful, the BMW F650GS is a dream to drive, dismissing pretenders with a flick of the wrist, Patrick van Sleight found on a recent trip.

Honda's gentle cruiser
Thursday, 15 September 2005

Improving your ATV experience

Monday, 23 May 2005

Quad-biking in the savannah sun

Friday, 20 May 2005

Bandit lunacy

Friday, 29 April 2005

Not a strong believer in the virtues of the Suzuki GSF400, our motorcycle correspondent Patrick van Sleight experienced a life-changing moment behind the fairing of a limited edition Bandit. Read full story here.

From basics to beauty

Thursday, 10 March 2005
Read full story here.

Last summer ride

Friday, 11 March 2005

Last summer rideKawasaki’s ZX-6R is fast, noisy, agile, and highly respected within the motorcycling fraternity. Patrick van Sleight recounts the moving moments shared with this desirable machine on their final ride together. Read full story here.

Superbikes! The forgotten heroes. Part 1

Thursday, 10 February 2005

Some superbikes of yore have risen into the hallowed halls of motorcycling, but their more frumpy siblings have lagged behind. However, correspondent Patrick van Sleight writes that a quick spit-and-polish can restore the pride of many maligned superbikes. Read the feature on Cartoday.com...

Superbikes! The forgotten heroes. Part 2

Tuesday, 22 February 2005

Some superbikes have risen into the hallowed halls of motorcycling while their more frumpy siblings have lagged behind. In his second instalment, Patrick van Sleight provides good tips for sourcing and owning these gems.

Give us a real Katana

Wednesday, 26 January 2005

Motorcycle correspondent Patrick van Sleight takes another trip down memory lane as he recalls the original Suzuki Katana more than twenty years down the line.

Part 1...

Part 2...

Then and now (1): Suzuki GSX-R 750

Then and now (2): Suzuki GSX-R 750

Servicing and tuning your NC30

Thursday, 2 December 2004

Honda's VFR400 is legendary, and the best of the series, the NC30, is the weapon of choice for novice and expert alike. Patrick van Sleight gives some tips for servicing and tuning this popular model.

So, you want a 'grey' bike?

Monday, 22 November 2004

The riding season is upon us, and many are considering taking the plunge and buying a grey import. Our motorcycle correspondent, Patrick van Sleight, introduces a new series of features on buying tips, maintenance and what’s on offer out there. Read the feature on Cartoday.com...

Can you live with Yamaha's R6?

Tuesday, 14 September, 2004

Most, if not all, motor enthusiasts have dreamt about owning a supercar (or superbike)... perhaps a mean machine they coveted in their youth or one of the first luxuries they'd acquire after the Lotto money started to roll in. In his appraisal of the Yamaha R6, our correspondent Patrick van Sleight takes a sober look at the cost of living (with) the dream. The R6, as he points out, is a highly desirable machine that transports its rider "into a world of high-revving mechanical and spiritual insanity where wind and exhaust noise merges into a wail of cataclysmic proportions". Indeed. But as with most things in life, great rewards demand sacrifices and in the case of dream machines such as the R6, the purchase price is but one of several expenses that add up when you own a dream car or bike. Read the feature on Cartoday.com...

Some classic tips

Sunday, 10 October 2004

Although classic bikes have their attractions, being saddled with an abused collectable has its drawbacks. Patrick van Sleight shares some tips.

Classic bike problems?

Thursday, 7 October 2004

Classic and collectable bikes come with a history of their own and provide hours of entertainment to the motorcycling enthusiast, but buyers should be wary of shady deals, Patrick van Sleight warns...

So, you want an affordable classic?

This article, written by independant journalist Patrick van Sleight, first appeared on http://www.cartoday.com/content/news/singlepage2.asp?in=6473 and is published here with the kind permission of the author. The views expressed in this article are not necessarily the views of BMW-Motorrad.co.za. Read full story here...

Tips for buying a classic

This article, written by independant journalist Patrick van Sleight, first appeared on http://www.cartoday.com/content/news/singlepage2.asp?in=6477 and is published here with the kind permission of the author. The views expressed in this article are not necessarily the views of BMW-Motorrad.co.za. Read full story here...

Thumping, rallying and commuting
For a touch of old world charm mixed with rugged practicality to make daily commutes more liveable, look no further than Yamaha’s XT500. Read article...

More than a delivery bike

Reliable and cheap to run, the Suzuki GS500 offers many novice bikers’ an entry into the big-bike sector. Read article...

Kawasaki delivers

If you had expected Kawasaki's new ZX-10R not to live up to its marketing hype, you would be forgiven. After all, how many more times can a manufacturer upstage the fastest, lightest and most powerful bike? Read article...

Kawa's next superbike

When the 2004 Kawasaki ZX-10R hits the streets it will not only need to beat Yamaha's acclaimed R1, but live up to a 30-year legacy of mean green superbikes. Read article...

'Grey' bikes - more pain than pleasure?

Grey-import motorcycles offer riders a relatively cheap entry to the superbike market, yet they carry a stigma of being difficult to work on and find parts for. These are the arguments for and against the grey-bike sector. Read article...

A weekend with stroking Elsie

Although Yamaha’s legendary RD350LC didn’t change my dislike of two-strokes, it still had several endearing qualities. Read article...

Rider of the Spirit

Who says you have to have a beard

Who says you have to have a tattoo

Who says you have to have an earstud

When a man has three bikes under his roof but rides non

Who says you need a black leather-jacket

Who says you need a silver chain

Who says you need a club

When you have more spirit then most of them

Who says you need to be at every rally

Who says you have to finish every bottle with your mates

Who says you have to limit your revs at three in the morning

When you are freer than most of us

If you never ride a bike

If you never own a bike

You are the best biker I know

For Emily

Fare yeah well, yeh olde GS...

On the last of your legs you were,
and wanted to go no further.
Funny now, how glorious that ride was;
the crisp breeze with stars blinking happily;
and the beat of your exhausts spluttering through the quiet air;
just like the old days;
just like it always was;
doing what you did best.
Little was I to know; it would be our last ride.
You stumbled, coughed and halted slowly,
trying to slip under a blanket of hot smoke- your vigour gone.
Desperate, pleading, we nurtured you on.
But a few reluctant miles later, you stumbled and died again.
You had enough.
With fatigue enfolding all of us in the middle of the black night,
and a hundred miles from home,
we knew there was no other way.
This was the moment of truth;
and for you, yet another resting spot.
Maybe just for now;
maybe forever...
But certainly for us;
me, eddie and you, old GS,
it was the last goodbye.
We fare you well, old GS...
And I wish you;
if not good fortune;
then at least a good rest.
Cold and lonely,
panting on your side,
tired and sick, but proud a horselaying in your hide - not your grave we pray -know that we;
eddie, you and me;
will always be togetherin dream, spirit and memory;
no matter where your path leads from there.
You served us well.

A moment in traffic

The traffic light turns red.
I brake and stop.
Another bike pulls up next to mine. I look aside. I want to say hi. I want to say nice bike.
But he looks straight ahead. His stare hidden behind a dark visor.
I look at him.
He stares ahead.
I stare ahead.
The traffic light turns green.
He is gone.
The moment is gone.
My smile is gone.

What if

would I ever have dreamt of far-away lands with hazy cliffs and tall waterfalls

 

would I ever have longed to be where mountains vanish into the clouds

 

and colorful birds ballet through windless skies

 

the land you say you belong to and I wanted to make my home

 

would I ever have held your hand under a full moon and forget my name

 

would I ever have taken long strolls with you over cobble-stone streets through ancient buildings

 

and know that I would not be alone that night

 

would I ever tasted the cooking from your hand that messaged my insides

 

and the caress of my ears to your soft voice

 

would I ever have heard you whisper that I am beautiful

 

would I ever have had a night not still aching for you

 

and wet my pillow as I relive the best evening of my eternity

 

would I ever knew that I could be me

 

what if I never even spoke to you

 

It`s a living honey

as the face in front of her asked how much baby
she thought of her little one far away
with a women she called mommy and a daddy having it out with the boys
and probably fucking whores
with their children raised by families
with high standing in society

it will be two fifty an hour honey
satisfaction guaranteed
i'll do what your wife does not want to do
or you do not want her to do
because you are a family of respect
and a holiday house by the sea

can we do it here is it safe
on this dark beach
on the leather seat of your car
from your job with the office with a view
because you are a man with standing
and a wife with class

do you like it if i suck it like this and squeeze it like that
i am good at what i do
an expert you might say
just like you in your fancy suit
because we both sold ourselves to the money
king

only you get to fuck me from behind
and then take my child
because i am unfit to be his mother
and as you come inside of me
does your wife know you are
with the mother of the child she raise
to became a respectable man in society
just like her dad

you zip up your fly
and i count the notes
as we go back
you to your wife with class
me to an empty room
with a photo of my little one
will you say hi to him
and tell him that i am getting out of this
as soon as I have made enough money
for a holiday house at the sea
and a car with black leather seats

a bad day

They stole my helmet. Cunts.

Not just any helmet. My favourite. My AGV Valentino Rossi Replica. Number 46.

The one I waited three weeks for to be delivered. Now its gone. Along with my gloves.

And its my fault. I should not have left them with the bike.

The same as it is the fault of a woman wearing a miniskirt if she gets raped.

In what kind of world does the victim get blamed for the crime.

You shouldnt have worn that miniskirt.

You shouldnt have left your helmet with the bike.

Cunts.

girl in a bar

her eyes meet his but he cannot hold her gaze

in a dark corner across the tables; her strong face framed by the shadows of her long thick curls; she sits apart from the crowd

a cigarette stump clings to her full lips

has her boyfriend gone to the loo

the brown of her eyes penetrate him. is she inviting him. challenging him

he gulps down a mouthful beer in discomfort

coward

she has not got the beauty of a cover model; yet she is striking, especially in this place

she seems slightly unkept and has no make-up. her white t-shirt looks worn. her denim-jeans scuffed and torn

the t-shirt has a print on it he cannot read from here

is that a smile at him. ever so slightly

is in her eyes the promise of another heartache. or just the drug to whisk him away into an oblivion for ever-after

through the window is lined-up a row of cruisers in front of the bar; harleys mostly of course. his is the black softail with the screaming eagle pipes at the far end. he arrived late

and among them is parked a few japanese sportbikes with loud and silly cracker-jack colours on the plastic bodywork just like the leathers of their riders. the shame. they do not belong here

of course, she must be a pillion. but where is her boyfriend. and which cruiser is his. must be an old one. and probably japanese. why would she be with somebody like that

shall he go tell her he rides the real thing

her gaze stings him one more time. his eyes fall into his beer

she gets up

no wait

her t-shirt says that suzuki’s rule

she grabs a bright-colored leather jacket from behind her. dainese. and a helmet alike. it’s a shark. those long legs are booted in alpinestars. as is her racing gloves

no

a cracker-jack rider

she is outside

wait

i`m sorry

but she is on her bike already. she glances back. can she see him through the window

with a flick of the wrist she is off. it is a hayabusa. as fast and big as they come

idiot

as the revs climb she slips into third gear and hoist the front wheel a metre high and disappears over the hill

that was definitely no cruiser pillion

To crash or not to crash

So, I almost had an accident tonight. Remember those? Accidents? They seem to become less with time.

Its been a long time since I had a near-crash even.

Truth is, I never take it for granted that I will stay safe on my bike. The reality of a crash rides with me all the time. It doesn’t stop me from being stupid and arrogant on the road though. Knowing I might crash doesn’t mean I ride safe and considerate all the time. How insane is that?

Anyway, I had to get to a meeting. In fact I wanted to cancel because of the sudden wet weather. But I decided to be a good boy. And my friend will be there with her bike too. I know she does not have a car as well. After all, I’ve been riding in the Cape of Storms for years now.

Bloody rain! My glasses were wet and helmet fogged up inside. Winter is supposed to be over! It’s night-time and the street-lamps were reflecting of the wet tarmac. I couldn’t make out the painted lanes or even where the sides of the road begin or end.

The next moment the curb at the side of the road were heading straight for my front wheel. Where did the curb came from?

Who the hell crashes into a curb? Lots of people I suddenly remembered. A few weeks ago I was in the Ducati workshop where a yellow 750SS was on the work-bench with a bent frame. Curb. Rider was recovering in hospital. In Paarl a few months ago someone died crashing all on his own. Hit the inside curb of a traffic circle. I remember being smug about it; how stupid do you have to be to hit a curb.

I was about to find out. That curb came at me from a weird direction. I had no idea where I was heading. My sense of direction was gone; I was riding blind.

I swerved. And rode on. At least now I know where on the road I was.

Bloody rain! This is why I want a car!

I had the presence of mind not to brake.

In that split second before the spill; I could see myself lying in the wet, surrounded by bits of broken fairing panels.

I don’t know how that happens; but those milliseconds before the crash, I can sometimes see where I will end up. It’s happened before with crashes and near-crashes I had. And that image of the aftermath is enough to spur me into avoidance – almost as if I have a choice; am I going to let this crash happen tonight?

And there were times I allowed it to happen; becoming paralysed and fixated on the target I am about to hit.

It all happens in milli-seconds at speed. Yet, time slows down. And I am left with a choice.

You know what? I actually don’t have to crash. Not tonight. Weird. But it seems to work.

How can there not be a higher power looking after me?

I thank my higher power when I get home safe. I’ve stopped taking my safety for granted a long time ago.

When I remember (which is often these days), I ask my higher power to keep me safe before I ride off.

And then I go and ride like a twat a lot of the time. I stay safe inspite of myself.

Luck? I don’t think so.

The nun on a bike

It was a Goldwing she has, and not a Harley, she said.

And she is a nun.

What kind of a nun rides a bike.

Well, Sonnie does.

She is half-Indian, living and working in an Indian reserve. I forgot which one.

Which is why we met.

I forgot many things about her since we met two years ago in Berlin.

But what is impossible to forget is the imprint she left on me.

She came in cold from Copenhagen, not knowing a soul in Berlin. She was supposed to find some Catholic Congregation to live at. To no avail.

Instead, she slept over at various people’s homes she met in public.

I took no notice of her until she mentioned her Indian roots.

Fiercely interested in the lives of First Original Peoples the world over – being of Khoi origin myself – I had to speak to her. That is how and why we met.

But soon enough motorcycles came up in the conversation, and she told me about her Goldwing.

She did have a Harley at some point, but liked the Goldwing better.

Sounded like my kind of girl. I’m always impressed with someone that hasn’t fallen for the ubiquitous Harley or Bee-em syndrome.

She told me about her long rides through the States and different Indian reserves. And the impression she and her big machine leaves on people everywhere.

Sonnie is one of those fundamentally happy people; no matter what they might be struggling with. And people like that usually fill me with suspicion. Maybe because I refuse to believe that anyone can be fundamentally happy in a world filled with greed and self-serving interests.

Yet, there she was. Living proof.

I think it is because she devotes her live to a higher power that cares for her.

And I am not talking religion. I am slowly learning that religion and spiritually is not necessarily the same thing.

And part of this spiritually is to be of service to other people. Completely. Her whole live is devoted to doing just that. But even scarier, is how she can jump onto a plane, go somewhere else in the world she has never been to, armed with her faith in a higher power, knowing it will all work out. And it is a testimony to that faith that she never had to sleep in the streets of Berlin.

Now, it will be easy to say that she is supposed to have faith; that she is supposed to be of service; that she is supposed to be content, because she is a nun; like Mother Theresa and the rest. But this is the case with just about all the fundamentally content people that I have read about.

And the few I have met.

She just happens to be a nun.

And she is unlike any nun I know.

Not that I know any other.

But she does not even wear a nun’s dress, dammit.

She shared my flat with me for a couple of days. It took me a while to trust her, as I couldn’t figure her out. She was too wonderful to exist. Her positivism annoyed me. I looked forward to stories of deprivation and poverty in the Indian reserves, and all she could talk about is how wonderful it all is. And that they were incredibly rich, owning boats and planes even. But it is owned communally, and does not belong to any one individual; one of the basic principles of livelihood in the cultures of most First Nations.

By the time I got to fully trust her, it was time to say goodbye. Or was it farewell.

She was notoriously camera-shy. We left Berlin at the same time, and as we said goodbye at the airport, I tried to steal a photo of her. But she snapped her head away just in time for me to end up with a bundle of swaying hair in my shot.

And that is where we left each other. Two years ago.

She did not want to leave me an address or number. Curious.

Sometimes I wonder if I imagined her. Can angels take physical form and come into your life with a specific purpose.

And what if you remain blind to that purpose indefinitely.

What if you ignore that purpose willfully.

Are you doomed forever.

Will you burn in hell.

For not heeding the message that you need to serve mankind.

That a higher power exists and only wants the best for you.

But that you need to turn your will and live over to that higher power.

That happiness can be found in other places than just the next ride.

That you don’t a bike to feel whole.

That wealth and happiness, are in fact, by-products or results of doing the above.

And on the days that I have believed and practiced the above, I’ve known it to be true.

But I have yet to make it my way of live.

I open my mail hoping to get a message from her. I dream of going to Manhatten and bumping into her on 5^th avenue.

I wonder if she thinks of me as often as I do of her.

So long, Sonnie. Ride safe.

Picture: "Sister Mary Motorcycle" from www-us.flickr.com/

The heroes fall

The race started so promising. Rossi on pole. How could he loose?

It turned out to be the one race I did not want to watch.

He never really recovered from his fall on lap four. I got up from the TV with my heart in my shoes.

A week earlier it was the same with Michael Schumacher. His famous luck and reliability deserted him when he needed it most!

I remember when Michael lost the championship to Hakkinen a number of years ago, it took me the whole summer to get over it.

Luckily I do not take racing that serious anymore. It's only entertainment.

Yeah, right.

Ride of Shadows

It was to be a mildly overcast day. Warm and humid perhaps. I would had to leave early. It was gonna be a long ride, but where to? Up the westcoast? Mosselbay? Somewhere far and distant.

And the Pan-European comes with a CD player. What would I enjoy? Something mellow certainly. Sting? Lanny Kravitz? ColdPlay? What the heck, take them all. It's not like the Pan-Euro lacks storage space. It would have been my first ride on a big tourer.

I would have hit the highway as the first light broke in the east. Let's go east, yes. I'm in a mood for the desert; my heart is haunted and I want to get lost in the vast openness. Let's ride into the orchestra of light and colour chasing the dawn away, until the stark harshness of the desert sun remains. I settle on Counting Crows.

The big V-four would have settled into a smooth rhythm by the time I climb the pass out of the Hex River valley. With the lush winelands behind me, I reach the flat plains of the dry Karoo. Dan Vickrey lets me know in his sleepy voice that "you've been waiting a long time, to fall on your knees."

I look for another gear. There is none. The horizon pulls me closer, but not fast enough. Vickrey and his boys are calling up shadows that whisper regrets and sorrow into my ears. I hope this road never ends.

"Why should you come when I call?" Vickrey and his boys want to know.

The hills role by endlessly. The emptiness of the landscape mocks me. I wanted to get lost. Instead I am chased. There is no turning back. On to the next turn, over the next hill. On and on. Where the promise of a different tomorrow waits. Where the pain of today will be a memory I can smile about.

How fast can I outride my shadows? Is a big V-four and long fuel-range enough?

Then the call came.

The bike is needed for other purpose. I can't get my ride. Sorry, see you next time.

Shit.

"It's too late to get high now" cries Vickrey.

Indeed.

First rides

Just got back from giving the young Mkhuseli his second ride on a bike. I gave him his first two weeks ago. He is thrilled. He wants a bike now!

This is the first bike that I have that I had so many pillions with. I don't know why, but for some reason, everybody who sees the bike wants a ride. From big old auntie's to young kids. This never happened with any of my other bikes.

This is Adele in the pictures. After years of threats and promises I finally got around to give Adele her first ride. We went around the Cape Peninsula. Next weekend we are tackling a much longer ride up the west-coast.

Breakfast in Houtbay, and the busy girl's phone never stops bugging her!

Slangkop; the weather conspired to make it a memorable ride.

Do you think she is enjoying herself?

This coming weekend, however, it is Sonje. It is literally also years that I have been promising her now. Don't know where we will go, but we'll see. It is actually much more fun not to plan a ride.

I gave Thandi her first ride ever on a bike last week, and there is also a long ride coming with her as well. I was hoping to take her on the Pan-European as well. I haven't told her yet I am no longer getting the Pan-Euro...

What exactly is it about bikes? Look at the way kids (including small girls) respond to them? And why does that change when we grow old?

With the risk of being arrogant, I hope I keep alive the dream and realisation that those boxy things with four wheels and mortgages aren't all there is too live for.

Biking reminds us we don't have to settle for the mundane and routine; that the young toddler staring wide-eyed at a passing bike is alive and well in us - and still waiting to get his ride!

My bikes

My CD200

I bought a Honda CD200 - it was meant to be my city slicker to get in and around town, but I found a job 20km away from home. That was 40km return on the highway, and I found the CD to slow, barely going 90kph! So I hardely used it, prefering the VFR. I eventually sold the CD, but is a charming and reliable little bike.

MY VFR

And this is the VFR; a red 1998 Honda VFR800Fi; it has a V-four fuel injected engine. Not as sporty as the ZX6R, but this one has character and charisma. Since the ZX I had a Suzuki Katana 750 and Yamaha FZR400, before I got the VFR and CD. But both those bikes were frustratingly unreliable, and as a result costly to look after.

The VFR is the most reliable bike I had since my Suzuki GS500 and Suzuki B200. I will makeposting of my experiences of all these bikes in future.

Up till the Truimph ST, the VFR was regarded as the best in class. Have a look here:

http://motoring.co.za/index.php?fArticleId=3245486


Other VFR sites worth looking at are:

https://www-auth.cs.wisc.edu/lists/vfr/

http://www.bikersoracle.com/vfr/forum/

http://www.vfrdiscussion.com/forum/index.php

vfrworld.com

An afternoon on the daisy run

I downshift in anticipation of the sharp left-hand corner at the bottom of the hill. But I don’t brake, letting the engine-braking slow down my already sedate momentum. The empty road sinks down into a narrow cliff. The last time I have been on this road I was a teenager, almost two decades ago. Then I had the same bewilderment at the rugged cliffs and oceans of flaming flowers as far as the eye can see. Back then, the road was a treacherous gravel path that took me into an unmapped corner of the country.


The anticipation throbs in my chest. The excitement of the unknown urging me on. Isn’t this what biking was invented for? Me, my machine, and a beautiful, empty strip of tarmac seducing me further away from civilisation. I am truly happy, and the last time I felt like this, I was on a bike on a similar ride…

The corner at the bottom of the hill arrives, and the road takes me into a deep ravine. The sun sits low in the west, so the long shadows appear dark and ominous. I seem to remember a stream that crossed the road back then. Does the stream still run? Would they have built a bridge now?

I lean my VFR lazily into the sharp bend, the well-known whistling of the gear-train for the cams reassuring me; it’s all right. We’ve come this far, nothing can go wrong now. I blip the throttle, and smile at the V-four engine’s deep bass drone reverberating through the cliff. If any baboons were grooming themselves in the middle of the road just out of sight around the corner, they should be gone now.

The narrow cliff suddenly opens up into a small valley. Yes! Not only is the stream running wide and strong after the recent rains, but it is flanked by an explosion of fiery flowers. And yes, yes they have built a low bridge, on which I stop. I hurry my helmet off, involuntarily sniffing at the aroma of wild daisies, fresh water and moist soil that fills the valley.

It is silent, except for the burble of the stream. I stare at the little oasis in bewonderment, knowing what a blessing it is for this dry world. Apparently the winters have been dry in recent years, and this is the first time the flowers are in such extravagant bloom.

I have chosen an opportune time to revisit Namaqualand. The countryside is lush and green, rivers and dams are full, but mostly; the fields are carpeted in thick layers of the bright daysies the region has become world-renowned for. In many ways, it is a coming of age for me. I always wanted to journey here by bike. And now I finally did.

They have christened the little stream. Next to the low bridge a roadside board proclaims its name, Ezelsfontein. I wonder how many maps will show it. I spent a long time marveling the flowers, stream and rock formations, before the road beckons me back.

I have to see how far the tar goes. I remember a spectacular mountain pass further ahead. I cant wait to see it.

And I didn’t even plan to be here. I took a ride out of Springbok in the late afternoon, killing time and taking in the luscious winter scenery. I noticed this road, the R355, that was once dust and stone, and is now freshly tarred. I followed it out of curiosity, and it is turning out be the best afternoon of my trip.

It is with some reluctance that I start the VFR and leave this little haven. But the call of a new discovery around the next corner is irresistible.


Most of Namaqualand is crowded with tour busses, SUV’s and caravans, and even groups of touring and trail bikes. But this road is seemingly still a secret. There are no vehicles except me and my VFR. It makes the ride even more sacred and pleasurable. I bet the rabbits around here have never seen a motorcycle before!


It is a steep climb out of the valley, and soon I am at the summit. The view is wide and far, and I stop to drink it in. The road snakes down and I realise it is the beginning of the mountain pass I anticipated. A few long sweeps and I suddenly get to the view I remembered that left me stunned almost twenty years ago. It does so again. It arrests me for an hour; the haze at the end of the world begging me to leave it all behind and just keep on riding forever.

What I see unfolded beneath me is the coastal plain that Spektakel Pass, as it is called, will take me onto. It is the rich mining fields of De Beers and a true wild west. Of course, I cannot resist, so I eventually go down the pass. But the sun is almost setting; soon I will have to turn back to Springbok.

A handful of houses are thrown together at the foot of the mountain. This is Buffelsrivier, named after the river that slinks across the flat plain. I stop every few minutes, drowning myself in the flowers and the green, rolling hills. Donkeys, goats and cows graze unperturbed next to the road. For nine months of the year this is a dry, dusty desert, but right now it is eden. And only because the winter rains was so good, which does not always happen every year.

To my astonishment, I notice a big airplane seemingly grounded in the middle of nowhere. Then I notice the refreshment store nearby, and on closer inspection, I see a rough landing strip parallel to the road. I refresh on some fruit-juice and the woman behind the counter informs me it belongs to the owner of the shop who commutes to Cape Town with it. Sensible chap. The little shop must earn him a lot of money…

It is time to turn back. I want to go on, but the road switches to gravel. But my bike is made for smooth tar, so my trip goes back the other way.

A sign warns me that I cannot get to Kleinzee without prior arrangement anyway. Kleinzee is a diamond mining dorp about 100km away that houses migrant workers from all-over. Even further on, cold and misty Port Nolloth awaits, infamous for it diamond smugglers.

I could always take the turn-off to Kommaggas. A passing truck driver informs me that the road is tarred right into the obscure little town, about 20 minutes away. But that means coming back after sunset.

So I turn around and rev back up Specktakel Pass, running wide through the empty corners at will. I have the setting sun behind me now, and grab fistfuls of throttle through the fast sweeping bends. In no time I am braking down the steep decline into Springbok.

But I have more to look forward to. Tomorrow I am taking the N14 national highway to Pofadder. It is empty, wide, long and straight. I always wanted to clock my bike on that road. I have never seen the top-end speed of my bike.

Yes, as a biker, I am truly coming of age in a daisy-carpeted Namaqualand.

almost a year later

It's been almost a year since I last blogged. Shameful! Ok, let's try again!